


How Very Nice to meet You.

by dustiie



Category: Social Network (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-28
Updated: 2011-11-12
Packaged: 2017-10-21 21:14:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/229913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dustiie/pseuds/dustiie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Mark is trying, and Wardo is not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Harvard

# HARVARD

  


## Mark

Mark hated the term anti-social. He thought it degrading, and even more so when used to describe _him_. He wasn’t anti-social, he could be really fucking social if he wanted to, he just chose not to. He was Mark Zuckerberg; founder and CEO of _Facebook_ , bitch. That was no small social feat; if he knew what people wanted to see online, he knew how to make friggen friends: it wasn’t up to discussion.

Truth be told—and he might as well be honest with himself, things weren’t always like that. He hadn’t always known how or when to speak, to laugh or to joke. High school hadn’t been tough, per say, but that was only because Mark knew he was above those people and didn’t let words like _nerd_ and _geek_ and _babbling social retard_ get to him.

 

But things weren’t easy up until he met Wardo.

Wardo was easy. Easy in every way—barring the one that makes it count, he supposes.

 

Sure, there’d been Chris and Dustin and even Billy, and they were nice to have around. They were good to talk to when he was having coding breaks, but that was exactly what made them different from Wardo. Wardo was good to talk to even whilst coding, and that was something that couldn’t be said for anybody else.

 

Mark didn’t like thinking about feelings. In fact, he tried not to acknowledge them, because acknowledging them would make them real, and so Wardo was carefully labelled WIP and stored into the _To Ponder_ folder on his desktop. And it stayed there; it endured 19 disk cleanups before Mark reluctantly set his jaw and double-clicked the damned .rtf.

## Wardo

Mark doesn’t walk; he _shuffles_. (His mum keeps telling him that, to pick up his feet, to take his hands out of his hoody pockets, the woman won’t let him live his own life.) So Mark shuffles over to Wardo; Wardo, who should definitely not be allowed to smile until his eyes crinkle at the sight of Mark. And that, right there, is what confuses Mark. It’s what sends the word error flashing over and over on his screen; it’s the one character out of place that causes the system to reboot and the goddamned blue screen to appear in front of his eyes. No-one’s eyes ever _crinkle_ , not at the sight of him.

So Mark shuffles up to the walking error and stares at him. He flares his nostrils and just stares. At his tanned skin, at his stupid hair and stupid, stupid eyes and thinks about his accent and the way he says ‘tah-night’ instead of tonight or ‘beccos’ in lieu of ‘because.’ And _yes_ , that is because English is his second language, but Mark never found those idiosyncrasies endearing on anybody else before.

“Mark,” Wardo barks. It sounds like a bark.

“Wardo,”

“What are you doing here?”

“I think I’ve come up with something.” He says, standing of the balls of his feet and then falling back to rid himself of some of that extra adrenaline. Or energy. Probably from the redbull and mountain dew. “Come outside.”

“It’s twenty degrees outside.” But Mark doesn’t care how cold it is; he needs Wardo to hear this. He tells him about thefacebook, about being the presidents of their own final club, all the while being unable to feel his limbs. Mark isn’t usually cryptic, he doesn’t like speaking in code but right now, he can’t afford to be direct.

“I can’t feel my legs,”

“I know. I’m totally psyched about this too, but Wardo—”

> it would be **_exclusive_**.

Wardo’s done his homework, so he knows sharing ideas isn’t a big part of Mark’s life. Mark watches his face as he takes in the words.

“Exclusive how?”

“You’d have to know the people on the site to get past your own page.” Mark narrows his eyes, breathing through his nose. He’s watching Wardo’s eyes scrutinize his face for information, and so he doesn’t let anything show.

“Mark?” Hesitation. Mark allows this to express on his face: his lips shift into a thin line.

“Wardo,”

“Mark, is this about Erica?”

“What? No, Wardo—are you—whatever, delusional?”

“Mark, you have to apologise, it’s the right thing to do.”

“Wardo, this has nothing to do with Erica. Wardo, this is about us.”

 

>  
> 
> About _**us**_.
> 
>  

 _Wardo..._

 **  
_  
_   
**

He’s a little intoxicated. So what if it’s not even 10 pm and it’s a Tuesday night, Mark has every right to be frustrated. His hands are jittery and he keeps hitting the wrong keys, so the code comes up all wrong and he has to go back line by line trying to correct it. Mark supposes he never really put much thought into Wardo meeting a girl, so he never really felt threatened by the prospect and its implications. When Mark asks, “What were their names?” Wardo doesn’t seem to realise Mark needs the information so he can hack into Wardo’s database tonight and delete all traces of their names from his C: disk.

>   
> 
> 
> ### Christy and Alice
> 
>   
> 

In retrospect, Mark couldn’t really bring himself to hate Christy, especially after she got them a meeting with Sean Parker.

And he couldn’t really hate Alice either, for she did do wonders for the less stimulated part of him.

 

Mark mostly got off hearing Wardo get blown next to him, but that’s more than he cares to admit.

 

Wardo has so far refused to acknowledge Mark’s revelations, and Mark is nothing if not stubborn, so he is waiting for the right moment to strike. And luck is with him, for the next time he hears his name, it is most definitely a bark.

“We were supposed to meet at 9.”

 

“Mark?” “Have you slept yet?”

 

“Mark?”

“Wardo.” Mark says, spinning on his chair to get a better look at him. Slacks, button down, branded shoes. Mark supposes if he was coded with _hoodies_ and _flip-flops_ , Wardo must have been coded with _suits_ , but he never ceases to find it inappropriate for university dorms. “I’ve just added something.”

“That looks good, that looks really good.”

“But watch,” Mark lets his fingers glide over the keyboard and give him what he wants.

“What’d you write?”

“’Relationship status’, ‘interested in’, this is what drives life at college. Are you having sex, or aren’t you. People are gonna log on because after all the cake and watermelon, there’s a chance that they’re actually gonna—”

“Get laid.”

>  _  
> **meet somebody.**   
> _

“Mark?” And there it is again, the flicker of recognition in Wardo’s eyes.

“Yes.”

“Mark, are you—what are you trying to—”

“Wardo.” Mark says, because he can now. “What’s your relationship status?”

“Mark,”

“So I can update your profile,”

“Mark, can we be straight forward with each other for a second?”

“I’m always straight forward. Obscenely so, you’ve said so yourself—”

“Mark! Are you asking me out?”

“I’ve just asked if you’re single! Jesus Christ, Wardo, you pretentious little dick, you don’t have to presage things into everything; it was a simple question! Are you or are you not single!”

“I’m not, I’m dating Christy.” Wardo says, all too composed, all too quickly. Mark’s hands stutter on the keyboard before he begins typing away.

“There, not so fucking hard.”

“Mark,”

“What, Wardo? Speak.” Mark spits at him.

“Why are you being this vicious?”

“I’m not.”

“I’ll get out of here,”

“Wardo—” But he’s already left. And that should be the end of it. But Mark always gets what he wants. And if he can’t have it one way, he’ll get it the other. So he goes for the next best thing.

## Sean-a-thon

It started with _they’re gonna card us_ , promptly followed by _he’s late_. _He’s not a god_. And then finally,

>  _I think Wardo’s jealous._

Wardo denies it, but the colour has already gone to his face. Christy doesn’t notice, she’s too busy laughing, but for one small second, Wardo stops fighting it and just meets Mark’s gaze. Mark doesn’t worry about conveying the right emotions on his face, because he never shows anything there anyway. He just stares blankly.

Sean Parker arrives right on time.

 

Things begin to spiral downward pretty quickly from there.

 

“There won’t be a party unless it’s cool.”

> So what do you think?

“Sure, let’s drop the ‘the’” He says, but he’s staring out the window and Mark knows he’s won.

“I meant catching the Marlin instead of the trout. Doesn’t that sound good?”

“If you’re a trout.”

 

Petulant, is the word.

Wardo knows better than anyone that Mark doesn’t ask for opinions, he just does things.

So yes. Petulant.

 

Mark only realises the touches were there after they stopped. They were there constantly: heavy, warm, and comfortable. But that, too, goes.

 

But then came the chicken. And the chicken was tough on Wardo, and though people may think Mark is a robot, (and Mark tends to agree with them in order to save himself the time that it would take to make them understand,) Mark does actually have feelings. Only, they’re very hidden. As a rich text file titled Wardo, under twenty different decoy folders.

“I can’t have this, Wardo.”

“Oh, come on. This is bullshit. It’s just another club playing a prank!”

“This is scathing,” Mark half laughs. Half laughs because it’s hilarious, but it’s also Wardo, and for Wardo he makes an effort. And he sort of wants to kick himself in the face for even thinking like that, especially about a man who has a girlfriend and isn’t even—

 

Isn’t even—

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

And as soon as his system reboots, Mark decides he’s going to Palo Alto.


	2. Palo Alto

# PALO ALTO

  


## Chris and Dustin

Mark would never trade his time with Wardo for more time with Dustin and Chris, but he will admit that they went a little unappreciated during his stay at Harvard.

Wardo calls, only because he doesn’t know Mark is partly trying to run away from him, and because he still owns 30% of the company. Wardo calls and wants to speak to everyone on the phone, and Mark unwillingly has to hand the receiver to Chris or to Dustin and feel sorry for himself until he gets to talk again.

Whenever Chris is on the phone, Dustin will sit with Mark. He’ll talk to Mark like they’ve always been best friends, and Mark allows himself to appreciate Dustin, no matter how stupid and childish he might be. They play halo and try to one up each other, always ending up in friendly insults and owing each other more free hours of coding than either can really give.

Chris is the more level-headed one. He’s kind of like the controlling mother figure. The controlling mother figure when Wardo is not there. Wardo’s not here.

It is a spectacle, then, when Chris agrees with Dustin that setting up a zip-line from the chimney to the pool is a good idea. Mark agrees because he’s testing the video feature for facebook, and he’s actually having _fun_ , or whatever that word means, when one of the interns breaks the chimney, the zip line, the roof and a table.

“That’s the door bell.”

“I didn’t know we had a doorbell.”

> Eduardo didn’t come out?

Mark shakes his head no.

## Sean Parker

Mark will admit to turning a blind eye on everything Sean did wrong for the sake of everything he did right. But Mark couldn’t do the same for Wardo, not when Wardo had been nothing but good and went bad all of the sudden. Unexplainably.

 

Sean puts them on two continents; Wardo freezes the account.

 

Sean talked about the _billion_ -dollar valuation, and Mark hadn’t really thought a billion dollars was an achievable goal just yet, but now, with Sean here, everything was falling into perfect place. Moving faster than any of them imagined, but _two continents_. A hundred schools and _two continents_ by the end of the summer.

The consistent beat of the music pounds at his ears, and yet he’s straining to catch every word that leaves Sean’s lips. Everything he says has Mark perking up in seat, shifting around, uneasy. Every word Sean speaks is relevant, is necessary information and Mark thinks _shit_.

Victoria’s Secret: sold for four million dollars.

“Happy ending right?” And Mark thinks, _yeah_. He thinks _hell yeah_. “Except two years later, the company’s worth 500 million dollars and Roy Raymond jumps off the Golden Gate Bridge.”

Sean’s date is a Victoria Secret’s model, but he talks about a girl he wanted, way before, back before Napster. Mark nods along, but his heart is threatening to break through his chest.

“This is _our_ time,”

 

“Hand them a business card that says, ‘I’m CEO… _bitch_.’”

 

“Do you live and breathe facebook?” And Mark thinks _fuck yeah_.

> So where the hell is Eduardo?

“This is a once-in-a-generation-holy-shit idea, and the water under the Golden Gate is freezing cold.”

And here, Mark thinks _shit_. But for all the wrong reasons.

 

Another night, Mark is lying in bed after a thirty-six hour coding tear and the words resound in his head. Echoing in the empty corners of the dark room. _Freezing cold. Once-in-a-generation-holy-shit idea. Roy Raymond jumps off the Golden Gate Bridge. Where the hell is Eduardo?_ Not here. And Mark thinks, _not here._

But then all too quickly, Wardo _is_ here.

“How’s it going, how’s the internship? How’s Christy?”

“The internship?! Mark…Jesus, I quit the internship. We talked about this on the phone, were you even—I quit on my first day!”

“I do remember you saying that. How’s Christy.”

“Christy’s crazy!”

“Is that fun?” Mark deadpans. Wardo turns disbelievingly, but _who’s the one dating her?_

“No, I mean she’s actually psychotic. She’s insanely jealous, she’s irrational and I’m frightened of her.”

“Still, it’s nice that you have a girlfriend.” Wardo rounds back to Sean, but if Mark doesn’t press now, the recognition in Wardo’s eyes will go out again, and Mark’s giving it one last shot before he gives up. It’s got to happen now.

“You gotta move out here, Wardo, it’s where it’s all happening. The connections, the energy—”

“Mark!”

“I’m afraid if you don’t come out here, you’re going to get left behind.”

>  **I want—I want—I _need_ you out here.**

“Please don’t tell him I said that.”

“Sean is not part of this company!” But Sean is more part of the company that Wardo has ever been.

 

“I’m aware of that.”

 

“I’m aware of that, Mark, I’m CFO!”

 

“He’s setting up other business meetings?”

“Yes.”

“Without me knowing about it?”

“You’re in New York!”

“I’m in New York, riding subways 14 hours a day trying to find advertisers!”

 _“And how is that going so far?!”_

> What did you mean get left behind?

Mark doesn’t explain it to Wardo because Wardo won’t understand. He won’t understand that the water is freezing cold, that you’ve gotta stay on your feet. But worst of all, Wardo won’t understand that no matter how fast everything is moving, and no matter how hard Mark tries to stay on top of it all, Mark can’t help but feeling he’s being left behind. He’s slowly falling out of touch with Wardo, the only thing that was easy and constant in his life. His ownership shares are slowly diluting down, as more people take control of facebook; his one creation. No matter how hard he tries, he’s being left behind by everything, _everyone_.

 

And Wardo’s the one to walk away.

 

Mark tries to shake the idea; Wardo is his best friend, his only friend and if Mark were to—to…

But the water is cold…

The water is cold…

 

 

 

Then there’s the phone call.

 

“You froze the account.”

“I had to get your attention, Mark.”

“Do you realize that you jeopardized the entire company? Do you realize that your actions could have permanently destroyed everything I’ve been working on?”

“ _We_ ’ve been working on.”

“Without money, the site can’t function! Let me tell you the difference between facebook and everybody else: WE DON’T CRASH EVER! If the servers are down for even a day, our entire reputation is irreversibly destroyed. Users are fickle; Friendster has proven that fact.”

“Look—”

“Even a few people leaving would reverberate through the entire user base. The users are interconnected, that’s the whole point! College kids are online because their friends are online, and if one domino goes, all the dominos go! Do you not get that?! I’m not going back to Caribbean Night at A-E-Pi!”

“Holy shit, what is wrong with you?!”

“Did you like being a nobody?! Did you like being a joke?! Do you wanna go back to that?!”

“Hang on, hang on!”

“Wardo!!” Mark is panting, and his hands are shaking, and maybe he yelled too much, maybe he stepped over a line, but Wardo walked away. _Wardo walked away._ “That was the act of a child, not a businessman. And it certainly wasn’t the act of a friend…But I’m willing to let bygones be bygones, because, Wardo, I’ve got some good news.”

“I’m sorry, I was angry and maybe it was childish. But I had to get your attention!”

“Peter Thiel’s just made an angel investment of half a million dollars.”

“What?”

“So get your ass on the first flight back to San Francisco.” Mark has to take a breath here, to steady his hands and heart and say, “I need my CFO.”

“I’m on my way.”

“And Wardo,”

“Yeah?”

“We did it.”

 

And Mark thinks _I’m willing to let bygones be bygones, Wardo. But you have to try too._


	3. The Angel Investment

# The Angel Investment.

 

## Chris and Dustin

That night, after Sean is gone and has taken some of the interns away to an after party, Mark gets drunk with Dustin. Chris gives them both disapproving looks from his armchair in the corner of the living room and sips his own vodka tonic. Dustin is pouring them all more shots, and chattering loudly about this week’s episode of shark-week. Mark is a little intoxicated and he easily takes the shot Dustin pours him.

“Man, I wish Wardo was here with us,” Dustin says, slumping lazily on the couch, limbs sprawled everywhere and Mark drinks again before saying, “He’s on his way here now,”

“He _is_?!” Dustin says, eyes lighting up as his body jerks up right and begins happily bouncing on his seat.

“Mhm,” Mark says, downing another shot. Dustin woops loudly, grinning and Chris laughs a little along too. “He’s gonna be here when we move into the new offices. He needs to sign his papers. As do both of you.”

“Half a million dollars,” Chris says almost disbelievingly from his seat. Mark smirks at him.

“You’ve done it, Marky-Mark,” Dustin chants, throwing his arms in the air. “Now we’re all gonna be rich!” And Mark has to laugh; Dustin is _such_ an idiot sometimes. Dustin isn’t too pleased when Mark voices this, though.

“How much is Thiel gonna own?” Chris says then, and Mark frowns.

“7%”

“Where does that leave us?” Something about Chris’ expression throws Mark off. His eyes are narrowed in the way they do when Mark has done something bad; the way they did when he found out Mark cheated on his Art History final back at Harvard.

“Your shares are still the same,” Mark says viciously. There’s no reason why Chris should feel cheated. “Wardo will own 34.4%. Dustin, you’ll own something like 6.81—”

“That’s gone up!” Dustin cocks up, face of pure ecstasy and Chris throws his shoe at him.

“What about Sean.”

“6.47—”

“Wardo won’t be too happy about that,” Chris warns,

“What does it matter?!” Mark spits. Dustin shrinks in his seat, hiding behind his empty cup. Chris holds Mark’s gaze, face careful and Mark has no trouble whatsoever glaring back. Chris backs down then, shrugging noncommittally, but Mark knows better than to let it go. “Has Wardo said something to you?”

“No, I’m just saying. Wardo had a point when he said Sean—”

“Sean has done more for this company than either of you have!!”

“Hey, man—” Dustin’s arms are up.

“Mark, I’m not siding with Wardo, I’m just saying—”

“There is no side to take! Wardo and I are on the same side here! This isn’t in dispute!”

“Okay, okay.” Chris says, leaning back into his armchair. Mark glares for a couple more seconds before Dustin gingerly brings the bottle to pour him another shot. Mark doesn’t spare him a second glance, downs the shot and goes to bed.

 

**

 

It’s past 12 when Mark shuffles down the stairs the next morning. Chris and Dustin are both hunched over their laptops, Dustin is coding and Chris is doing whatever it is that Chris does. Mark makes a beeline to the fridge and grabs a can of redbull before setting up camp next to Dustin on the couch.

In the next room, Mark can hear Andrew, one of the interns, typing away on his laptop.

“Wired in,” Dustin says, as though he was reading his mind.

“Where are the others?”

“Still with Sean or something,” Dustin says, words clipped, as they are when he codes. Mark nods to himself and cracks his fingers before getting to work.

The soft tap of his keys hold a nice rhythm, one his thought can easily fall into and he’s at ease for a while.

Something goes off-kilter though, and although at first Mark doesn’t notice _or_ care, a prickling sensation starts to make the hairs on the back of his neck stand. He looks up, and he isn’t surprised in the slightest when he sees Chris and Dustin shooting each other meaningful looks. Looks that stop as soon as Mark looks up.

“What?” Mark deadpans.

“Nothing,” Dustin says and begins typing away immediately. Mark glares at Chris, and Chris glares back and they’re on their way to some kind of staring competition when Dustin blurts out, “We’re worried about you.”

“Excuse me?” Mark turns to him disbelievingly, because, _what the fuck is this about?_

“ _Dustin_ ,” Chris reproaches through gritted teeth, but as far as Mark is concerned, the damage has already been made.

“Just—Just, Mark, ever since Sean got here, things have been moving way too fast—”

“That’s a _good_ thing,” Mark scolds,

“Y-Yeah,” Dustin stammers and Mark frowns, because, why can’t he just be coherent and speak properly like everybody else. “But, Mark, Sean has destroyed every other company he’s ever been part of—”

“Sean owns less than 7 percent, Dustin—”

“I own less than 7 percent, Mark, and I helped build this thing from scratch!” Dustin says, eyes panicked and Mark has to stop and think why this might be. All of the sudden, it’s like all of his thought shut down and his brain is completely quiet and then _click_.

“You think I’m gonna screw you out of this?” Mark says, almost softly, because—that’s just preposterous. But Dustin has gone quiet, and Chris is so still and they’re both staring at him with wide eyes and Mark can’t think of a reason why they would ever come to this conclusion and— “What—what are you thinking?! Jesus! I wouldn’t—I’d never screw you guys out of this, this is _our_ thing!”

 

And it all hit him like a pang then.

 

Mark hears Chris and Dustin both take in slow breaths, and he looks up to see them both resume work with small smiles on their faces, but everything has suddenly tipped upside down in Mark’s world and he runs upstairs, he grabs his phone and dials Wardo’s number with shaky hands, panic rising in his throat.

>  _Don’t come to Palo Alto, Peter Thiel and Sean, the new structure to accommodate—_
> 
>  _Don’t sign the papers, Wardo, I don’t want to screw you out of this—_

 

But Wardo never picks up.

 

Later, Mark will put two and two together and remember that Wardo would have been on a plane when he tried to call, but right there and then, it feels more and more like Wardo’s leaving Mark behind, like he doesn’t care about facebook, _and the water is freezing cold_. And Mark won’t see Wardo until after he’s signed the papers.

And by then, it’ll all be too late.


	4. The Facebook Offices

# The Facebook Offices.

  


## Wardo

The double doors of the office stand in front of Mark, Chris and Dustin. Sean has a huge grin on his face, watching their expecting own and says something that sounds like an awful lot like _Welcome, feel right at home_ and not enough like _And here's your new office,_  and pushes the doors in the middle. Mark swears the breath is punched out of him when he first sees inside. He feels Chris’s steady hand clamp on his shoulder, and then Dustin drags him into a constrictor-like hug, and Mark feels small, but everything around them is huge. The walls are empty and white, but Mark can see _so much_ on them.

 

 _Hack._

 _  
_

_Move fast and break things._

 _  
_

_Ea=            1              ._

 _1+10 (Ra-Rb)/400_

 _Eb=             1               ._

 _1+10 (Rb-Ra)/400_

 

Mark let’s his muscles tug his face into a grin.

 

Later, Mark will be typing and he’ll involuntarily spill his bottle of mountain dew all over himself.

“Dude, Mark, how much redbull have you had?” Dustin laughs from across the desk. Mark promptly stands up to try and shake the dripping off of his shirt, pants and arms.

Mark doesn’t deign to answer that, opting instead for his most scornful glare. The one usually reserved for stuck up teachers and people who looked down on him, but this doesn’t startle Dustin in the slightest—if anything, it makes him laugh harder.

“Mark?” Comes Chris’ voice from behind Dustin, but Mark shuts him off by putting his headphones back on and getting to work. He hasn’t even had that much redbull, he thinks grouchily; he’s just jittery.

 

He knows it’s because of Wardo. Because by this time, Wardo will be signing the papers. Mark tries not to think about it, because after all, he could be wrong. Who says Sean really wants to screw everyone out of the company and self destroy? Maybe Sean is a good guy; maybe Wardo’s the one who’s wrong.

“ _Fuck,_ ” He curses, “fuck, fuck, fuck, _fuck_!” as the mountain dew drips down his body again.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!” Dustin chants happily from across the desk.

“Dustin, shut the fuck up!” Mark growls and storms off to the toilets.

“Yes, boss.”

 

Mark takes his time; he walks the corridors slowly, taking in every wall and empty space down the hall. He makes mental notes on where he’ll set up each of the interns’ desks according to his own perquisites. He pushes the door to the male toilets slowly, slumping his whole body onto it. He stares at himself in the mirror and yields himself a small grin before washing his arms and standing under the hand drier. His hands are still jittery, he’s still nervous. Yet at the same time, he’s excited and happy and the office is so big and new and there’s so much room for facebook to grow that Mark can’t really bring himself to slack around. Not today.

 

It feels like ages before he stops feeling sticky and by the time he steps out, most of the interns are done with signing contracts and have begun setting up their desks. Mark nods to himself as he passes them, approving or being otherwise apathetic towards their choosing of desks. Before he can get to his own desk, however, a large, lean figure chatting happily to Dustin stuns him. He feels his lungs deflate and something at his stomach squirms.

That’s when Wardo notices him, though, and flashes him one of those great, teeth-bearing smiles.

“How’d it go?” Tries Mark, his voice coming out all choked and shaky, but Wardo grins nonetheless.

“Amazingly,” Wardo says, leaning down to pull two beers out of the mini fridge and Mark has to avert his gaze. Suddenly, his heart is hammering at his chest—his brain rockets back to Erica, back at her dorm once, her tongue warm in his mouth, but then all of the sudden, Erica isn’t Erica anymore, but Wardo—with warm eyes and long fingers and lean body and Mark has to shake his head to try and shake the image. Wardo stands awkwardly, hand still outstretched with a beer, as he swings his own.

“Don’t want it?” He says, and Mark just takes it from him and downs half of it in one gulp. Wardo laughs a little, Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he does. Mark suddenly feels red and hot and bothered and so he stuffs his free hand into his hoodie pocket and switches his weight from foot to foot.

“Are you okay?” Wardo says, laugh still lingering in his voice, his face amused and Mark gives him a curt not.

“Half a million dollars,” Mark says to diffuse tension, but _still_. _Half a million dollars._

“Yeah.” Wardo says, grinning as he leans over a desk and watches the interns settle.

“Let’s go home,”

“Yeah.”

 

Wardo’s eyes crinkle.

 

 

 

The car ride back home is awkward.

Wardo keeps sneaking looks, huge grin tugging at his face the whole time, but Mark is too busy trying to hide his raging hard on from the passenger seat. He tries bringing one of his feet up on the seat, he tries kicking both legs up on the dashboard, he tries hugging both knees to his chest, all the while Wardo laughs breathily.

“Mark,” He says, a hand coming off the wheel to graze his leg and Mark jumps. “I missed you,”

“We only saw each other like three days ago,” Mark manages to sound both intellectually disabled and like a drowning dog at the same time. He clears his throat and tries to sit up again, but Wardo’s looking at him with a puzzled expression and something in his eyes screams _hurt_ and Mark doesn’t know what to do, and yet the words “but I missed you too,” have left his mouth before he can think better of it.

Wardo’s eyes crinkle again, and all Mark can really think is _easy_. Wardo is easily fixable. He makes sure to place that as a headnote in his Wardo file, sure it’ll come in handy sooner or later. Most probably sooner—sooner than he wishes. And that thought right there, has his erection flagging and his hands jittering again.

 

That is, until Wardo parks the car and places a hand firmly over Mark’s thigh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lol I needed this to be more than 1,000 words and i was on 996, and mum said to me, "you should add 'Reblog if you crey'" at the end, i like died laughing.


	5. Before

# Before

 

## Wardo

Wardo’s lips against his own are soft, but rough with hunger and something else that Mark can’t quite place. His hands are searching, squeezing and grabbing at everything they can reach and Mark feels his body limp against the wall. He’s idly aware of one of the interns gaping, but he can’t bring himself to care, because Wardo is finally, finally here. Kissing him. Easy. And Mark has to stifle a laugh, because Wardo’s easy, just not in the degrading way. Wardo pulls back and laughs along, his eyes twinkling and Mark grins.

Then all of the sudden, he’s against his bedroom’s door, Wardo pressing up against him and rutting and Mark can only think of how good it feels to have Wardo’s lean body against his own scrawny self; Wardo’s warm, elegant hands roaming his pale and pathetic body; Wardo’s lips, so different from what he imagined, sucking and biting bruises into his neck.

But Wardo’s hands are cold when they venture under Mark’s shirt, and Mark lets out a ragged sigh into Wardo’s mouth. Wardo laughs, and Mark frowns—he frowns, gets on his tiptoes and snakes his arms around Wardo’s neck to pull him down, to pull him closer and closer until they’re the same entity.

Fitting his knee between Mark’s thighs, Wardo brings his hands down to Mark’s arse and down behind his thighs and lift him into the air, he walks them to the bed and presses up against him, and by this point, Mark is so dizzy with _want_ and _need_ and _Wardo_ , that he doesn’t even wonder where Wardo got the lube from and lifts his hips to help Wardo pull his pants down. He arches up as Wardo’s cold hands wrap around him and begin jerking him off.

“W-Wardo,” He cries breathlessly, voice ragged and hoarse, hands sliding their way from Wardo’s hands to his forearms, to his biceps, shoulders, neck, jaw and finally tangling in his hair as the latter plants trails of wet kisses down his neck, his chest and belly and Mark arches up. “W-Wardo, I’m gonna—”

“Don’t come yet,” Wardo sears into his skin, one hand coming to press under his balls to make fucking sure of it, while the other—the other—

His mind is hyper aware of everything all of the sudden. He recalls hearing the distant click, the sound of liquid—but now it’s cold against him, colder than Wardo’s hands—cold and slippery and—

“Wardo—”

“It’s okay, it’s gonna be okay,”

“Wardo—” His voice comes with an unfamiliar hint of hysteria.

“I’m here for you,” And with that, Mark feels it breach.

Once, twice, thrice and then Wardo’s tongue is in his mouth, muffling the sounds Mark is making. And then, without a warning but a hitch of Wardo’s breath, he feels it push into him.

And it hurts. It hurts and burns and stretches and Mark thinks, _this is nothing_ , he thinks, _nothing compared to how it’ll hurt him_. And Mark thinks maybe he’s crying.

And Mark wishes Sean would show up now. He wishes Sean would see them, like this, so undeniably together, so undeniably one that he would abort all plans of screwing Wardo out. But most importantly, he wishes Sean would see them now, and that he would tell the whole world about Wardo being nobody but Mark’s.

And Mark being nobody but Wardo’s.

And facebook’s. And that’s where it all goes wrong. Facebook, the thing that brought them so closely together only to have them ripped mercilessly apart.

But Wardo’s inside him now, and they’re one. Not forever and not for long, but together and the whole world could explode now, and Mark would die the happiest man on earth.

The soft push and pull of their skin meeting settles into Mark’s heartbeat like the keystrokes on his laptop fit into his thoughts, and Mark thinks he might really be crying.

Wardo’s calling his name, chanting it softly like an endless mantra and Mark follows suit. Wardo’s hips jerk and speed and yet the beat isn’t erroneous—just different rhythms that Mark tries to carve and burn into his memory, Wardo’s ragged breaths and desperate moans, the feel of his hands all over Mark’s body. The way his eyebrows are pulled together and his teeth sink softly into Mark’s skin.

Mark’s whole body heaves with sobs, whether from crying or pure pleasure, he doesn’t know. His whole body is shaking with spasms, back arching both concave and convex with each skilled thrust of Wardo’s and Mark lets go.

“Wardo,” he manages and touches his face. Wardo kisses the heel of his palm and Mark loses it, loud and shaky and perfect, and Wardo keens above him and Mark feels the unfamiliar spread of heat unfurl inside him.

 

It could never be long enough, but Wardo rolls off him way too soon and lies next to him. Quiet, comfortable, easy.

Mark is still catching his breath when Wardo’s hand comes to his jaw, and gently turns Mark’s face towards his own. Mark searches Wardo’s face for his favourite features. His stupid hair, tousled and sticking out in odd angles; his face red and hot from all that sex; breath heavy, but controlled; his eyes, huge and round and kind; his nose, just the right size to brush over Mark’s cheek when they kiss; and finally his lips, red and raw and smiling. Mark searches for his eyes again, feeling warmth swell inside him and reaches out to touch Wardo back, touch his cheeks, his ears, his hair.

“A million members,” Wardo says like he doesn’t believe it, but his eyes are on Mark’s and Mark pulls his face to cradle against his own chest.

“Remember the algorithm on the window at Kirkland?” Wardo’s voice is muffled, and Mark can feel his smile against his own bare chest, he feels the kiss Wardo presses against his skin and he hates himself.

“Yeah,” He says, and he thinks about getting left behind.

 

That night, Mark waits until Wardo’s asleep to pad away from his bedroom and down to the living room, where he sets up camp and wires in.

## Chris

He doesn’t know how long it’s been when he looks up to see Chris watching him. He pulls his headphones off and looks at him. Chris stares for a few seconds, face unreadable and Mark thinks maybe Chris learnt that off him.

“You okay?” Chris’ voice sounds strange, Mark thinks, but he can’t quite place what about it throws him off.

“Fine,” Mark says and tries to get back to work, but all the ideas on the update have left his brain. And who is he kidding, none of the code he’s typed makes much sense—his hands shaking on the keyboard, even still. They make distracting, muffled _tick_ noises, so Mark begins to pick at his nails.

“Mark, if you need to talk—”

“Chris, I’m fine.”

“Have you and Wardo had a fight?”

“What? No, of course not.”

“Just—Andrew said something about last night—“ And here, Chris looks away. Mark thinks maybe Andrew deserves to be fired, but worst of all he thinks that if anyone really deserves to be punished or a good beating, it’s Mark. Mark would practically _pay_ his high school bullies to hurt him—to hurt him because he knows Wardo won’t ever be able to. “Yeah.”

“So why are you here and not with him?”

“He’s asleep; I had an idea.” He says, and rearranges his headphones back on his ears.

Conversation over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise for the level of suck of the smut.


	6. After

# After

  


## Mark

 

Mark doesn’t think about Dustin and Chris, oblivious to the fact that Mark _actually_ screwed Wardo out of the company. Mark doesn’t think about Sean or the interns (though, in retrospect, maybe he should have). Mark only thinks about Wardo. He thinks about the tremble in Wardo’s voice, the way his Adam’s apple wavered—the same way it had what feels like so many nights ago. The way his hands shook uncontrollably, even as he smashed Mark’s laptop to pieces.

 

Mark lets his eyes fall unto it, lying destroyed pathetically on the ground. Its shards scattered around the office, and Mark doesn’t care make it into an analogy.

 

How many times had he been told about his self-destructive tendencies? Yet today, he proved them all wrong. Today, he hurt somebody else. Today he hurt Wardo, and he feels the pain dragging its nails down his throat, sticking pins into the back of his eyes and shaking his body with such fervour it makes him retch.

 

Mark had never been too physical either, but tonight, he picks up the broken laptop and kicks at it. He kicks at it, throws it at the walls and at the floor and swears and yells until his voice is raw, his back sweating and his hands bleeding from the aslant pieces of hardware.

 

That’s when the phone rings, stopping his sobbing abruptly. He touches his face and feels the tears—he looks around and sees the pieces of laptop scattered even further than they were—he looks down and sees his hands bleeding and he looks behind for answers, but this time, Wardo’s not there to give them.

 

He hears what Sean has to say. He hears it, but doesn’t listen. He catches Wardo’s name, but he doesn’t feel the anger with which he retorts. He only feels the emptiness and spawns on the chair, looking at the office: full, white walls covered and desks used. Full and yet he sees nothing.

 

And he’s _CEO, bitch._

That’s all he’ll ever be.

 

Mark spends the night at the office, wide-eyed and exhausted. He flicks through his _Wardo.rtf_ reading every word once before deleting the file, amongst all the other ones that had come to keep it company in the decoy folder.

 

Even the note that just said _Neruda, Poem XV._

He reminisces back to that lazy Sunday afternoon still at Harvard, when none of this had even started.

Wardo didn’t care much for poetry, but he’d said the poem had reminded him of Mark.  
Wardo didn’t speak Spanish, but he’d said it was so similar to Portuguese, that he could mostly understand it all.

Mark wasn’t one to keep old memos of any sentimental value, but he only had to lift his arse off the chair a little to reach into his wallet and spread his fingers over the faded, yellowing notebook page.

 

 _Neruda on Mark Coding_

  _I like it when you’re still, because it is as though you are absent,_

 _And you hear me from afar, and my voice does not touch you._

 _It seems that your eyes have flown,_

 _And it seems that a kiss has sealed your mouth._

 _As all things are filled with my soul,_

 _You emerge from such things, filled with my soul._

 _Butterfly of dreams, you are like my soul,_

 _And you are like the word melancholy._

 _I like it when you are still, and it is like you are distant._

 _It is as though you are saddened, butterfly of lullabies,_

 _And you hear me from afar, and my voice does not touch you:_

 _Let me grow still with your silence._

 _Let me also speak to you with your silence,_

 _Clear as a lamp, simple as a ring._

 _You are as the night, silent and full of stars._

 _Your silence is like a star’s, so far and simple._

 _I like it when you are still, because it is as though you are absent,_

 _Distant and anguished as if you had died._

 _A word then, a smile is enough._

 _And I am happy, happy it is not so._

 

Mark traces the dented paper with his fingers, feeling the relieve of the page where the words have been carefully printed with a black ink pen—always a black ink pen. He feels the words under his fingertips, and imagines Wardo writing them, smiling—and if only a smile were enough now.

 

Mark turns the sheet, and with a blue ball pen takes to the page.

 

 _Neruda, Poem XX._

 _Mark on Wardo._

 _Tonight I can write the saddest lines._

 _Write, for example, ‘The night is starry_

 _And the stars are blue and shiver in the distance.”_

 _The night wind revolves in the sky and sings._

 _Tonight I can write the saddest lines._

 _I loved him, and sometimes he loved me too._

 _Through nights like this one I held him in my arms_

 _I kissed him again and again under the endless sky._

 _He loved me, and sometimes I loved him too._

 _How could one not have loved his great, still eyes?_

 _Tonight, I can write the saddest lines,_

 _To think I do not have him. To feel that I have lost him._

 _To hear the immense night, still more immense without him_

 _And these lines fall to the soul like dew to the pasture._

 _What does it matter that my love could not keep him?_

 _The night is starry and he is not with me._

 _That is all. In the distance, someone is singing. In the distance._

 _My soul is not satisfied that it has lost him._

 _My sight tries to find him as though to bring him closer._

 _My heart looks for him, and he is not with me._

 _The same night dawns the same trees,_

 _We, of that time, are no longer the same._

 _I no longer love him, that’s certain, but how I loved him._

 _My voice searched the wind so it could touch his ears._

 _Another’s. He will be another’s. As he was before my kisses._

 _His voice, his bright body. His infinite eyes._

 _I no longer love him, that’s certain, but maybe I love him._

 _Love is so short, forgetting is so long._

 _Because through night like this one I held him in my arms,_

 _My soul is not satisfied that it has lost him._

 _Though this will be the last pain that he causes me,_

 _And these the last lines that I write for him._

 

As soon as Mark takes his pen off the paper, he is up and walking. He stops by the small kitchen on the way and grabs a box of matches and makes a beeline to the bathrooms, where he watches the paper burn and melt and waits for the heat to touch his fingertips, to burn and to agonize.

The paper is almost ashes when a cold shower has Mark’s eyes drifting close; with frustration, with pain and resignation and he stands under it, soaking and feeling nothing.


	7. Depositions

# Depositions

  


## Mark

 

And that’s where Dustin finds him in the morning. Soaking and still waiting for the saturated paper to singe his fingers.

 

Dustin stands dumbfounded, easy smile still frozen on his face. Mark doesn’t say anything: he doesn’t have to. His silence speaks louder and clearer than his words ever did anyways. He pushes past Dustin, past Chris and past the gaping interns and past the ones wired in, daring anyone to say anything.

 

His laptop’s not the desk where it should be, and if his mind had stopped playing its smashing to the ground, this may have been a gentle reminder of how things are never going to be the same.

 

The ride back home is quiet and lonely, and all he can think about is Wardo’s hand on his thigh like that one time.

At home, he paces the rooms; quiet and empty like he feels.

 

He picks up the phone, thumbing the worn number one: Wardo’s speed dial. What good would it do now? What would he have to say for himself anyway?

 _I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for any of this to happen_. That’s pathetic and it’s a lie. Mark thinks even if his voice weren’t shaking as much as his hands and knees, he couldn’t ever get away with that lie.

Wardo knows him best, better than his mother, better than Erica or anyone. Wardo would see past his it before he even managed his first breath.

 

Mark’s hands shake inanely; they sweat, cold and infinite.

His mind is racing and his heart bats at his chest and the adrenaline has him feeling physically light. His mind and gut, on the other hand, make him wish he could burry himself.

 

He feels like he’s waiting for something—anything even remotely settling. He feels like he’s waiting for Wardo to come back, to beat the fuck out of him with a hammer, to somehow— _anyhow_ make his anger known, his hurt.

 

Mark sits still, his leg jiggling, his hands sweating. He sits still, alone with the thoughts and waits for the darkness to engulf him and take him away.

 

***

 

Mark sits at his desk, coding furiously, mind set like he’s learnt to.

It’s Chris who throws a manila envelope onto his typing hands and frowns at him with a hand cocked on his hip.

Mark glares at him pointedly, and Chris glares back. Their interactions are mostly like this nowadays, Mark guesses he shouldn’t be surprised.

He opens the envelope to find the words he’s been expecting for the longest time.

 

“He’s suing.” Mark deadpans, eyes trained on the paper, voice cold and flat.

“No. _They’_ re suing.”

“Who?”

“The Winklevoss.”

“The who—The _Winklevii_?” Clear as fucking water, _Cameron and Tyler Winklevoss_ stands printed perfectly atop the page. “With what grounds? Why? What?”

“I don’t know, why don’t you tell me.”

“Is this a joke?” Mark frowns, gesturing the envelope, nostrils flaring. What the fuck?

“Does it look like a fucking joke, Mark? I have enough bullshit to deal with! You stole their idea?!”

“I stole their—Chris, are you mentally impaired? This was _our_ idea! You knew—Dustin knew I was helping the Winklevii, you go and ask him! I wouldn’t stealtheir _dating_ website!”

“You know what, I frankly don’t know what you would and wouldn’t do, Mark. So this one is on you, _you_ fix this fucking mess, I don’t want to hear a word about it.” As Chris walks away, interns begin taking off their headphones to gape pathetically and intrusively what the hell is going on.

“Chris, are you serious?!” Mark stands, voice coming with that hint of hysteria that’s become eerily familiar to him ever since _then._

“I’m dead fucking serious, Mark!!” He doesn’t turn. The door slams shut. The interns gape and Mark sinks in his seat, almost expecting Sean’s “that’s it. That’s our show for tonight, people.”

He sits and tries to stop the images from playing in his head, trying to stop the noise of his laptop smashing to the ground from driving him up the wall.

And yet none of those things that keep him up at night come close to being as terrible as Wardo’s voice on repeat calling him an asshole over and over until he’s a small ball curled on itself on his bed at night, wide awake and anxious and being unable to ever put an end to the torture.

 

The first hearing, Mark doesn’t bother to dress up for. He shows up and he tells things as they are, voice steady and words clipped and feels himself making his return.

 

 _The Winklevii_ , he sniggers. Because this case is ridiculous, they have no grounds and it was all settled with that letter he sent them back at Harvard.

Mark gets up from his seat after the first hearing and goes home, ready to tell Chris he’s fixed it with his new and renowned air of arrogance.

 

 

Chris, however, frowns even more and hands him another envelope.

 

## Wardo

 

“He’s suing.”

 

The words bounce around in Mark’s head. The envelope is no heavier than the Winklevii’s was, but this one has his heart, his gut and his arrogance sinking to the ground and past. It’s no heavier than the Winklevii’s, and Mark wonders where the weigh of everything that’s happened between them has gone.

 

 

This time, Mark voice is quieter than it once was. His hands don’t shake, but his guts squirm at the sight of Wardo glaring at him from across the table.

 

“I’m sorry, Sy. Would you mind addressing him as Mr Saverin?” Says Wardo’s lawyer and Mark wonders if that applies to him too.

“Gretchen, they’re best friends.”

The words _Not Anymore_ are too simple words. Too simple to ever begin to cover what ‘ _Mr Saverin’_ and Mark were. Mark feels that anger and frustration building up inside him and he wants to capsize the table and scream vicious, vicious words at her for making that claim. What does _she_ know about Wardo and Mark? What would she understand? That what runs between them is more powerful than money, more powerful than hurt and more powerful than facebook itself.

Mark shoots Wardo a look, afraid that if he were to speak, his voice would be all hysteria.

 

But Wardo doesn’t look unnerved. He doesn’t speak.

 

Excuse him, _Mr Saverin_ doesn’t speak.


	8. Marks

# Marks

## Mark

The room feels musky and extremely hot and humid and Mark is not really sure how he even made it back to the house, let alone his bedroom.

Though his back is on the wall closest to the door, his chest feels tight and his head burning; he doubts he could make it out the room if he tried.  
He doesn’t know what a panic attack feels like, but he’s pretty sure this is close.

He tastes blood in his mouth and promptly releases his lower lip from between his clenching teeth. He reaches his hand up to touch and instantly feels his fingers get soaked. The dent on his lip sends a painful pang through him.

.

“Wardo, you have a scratch on your back,” Mark notes monotonously as Wardo strips off his three-piece suit, ready for a shower. Mark watches as the sturdy muscles on Wardo’s back and arms shift fluidly under his warm, golden skin.  
“You’re right,” Wardo hums with a smile, body twisted awkwardly to get a look at the angry red line that streaks his back. “It’s just a small one though, it’ll go away soon.” He grins that stupid grin that never fails to leave Mark breathless and drops his boxers before stepping into the shower.

Mark gazes at the fogging glass behind which Wardo whistles happily, and wonders how somebody could be so at ease in their own skin. Then again, Dustin always sleeps naked, and Chris isn’t really that self-conscious either. Mark isn’t exactly self-conscious, he’s just—careful. About showing too much. And saying much too much, or much too little...

He tries to shake the idea and strips out of his own clothes, shutting his eyes tightly as to not see the obscene shade of red his face and chest have turned and hops in right next to Wardo.

“Mark’s marks,” Wardo whispers against Mark’s face, which darkens as he wraps his arms around Wardo and rests his forehead on his shoulder. “I love you,” Wardo says and kisses his head.

.

“I love you too,” Mark whispers.

 

## Dustin

“Yeh-llo.” Dustin says cheerily into his phone, placing it between his ear and shoulder and brings his hands back to the keyboard. “Hello,” He shifts his phone from ear to ear and again resumes typing. His stomach grumbles and he wonders how long it’ll be until Chris gives into his laziness-based hunger strike and brings him a sandwich. “Hello?” He says again and sits up. He checks the screen and hastily brings the thing back to his ear. “Marky-Mark? Are you okay?” He says, throat suddenly tight, own personal needs quickly forgotten.  
“Y-Yeah,” Mark coughs. “Just—Just…”  
“Hey, bud, you want me to come home?” Dustin frowns. “What’s wrong? Have you spoken to Chris? Is this about the Winklevii, cause we both know they ain’t got shit on us, Marky-Mark. I’ll get Chris to hire more lawyers or something—”  
“This isn’t about the Winklevii, just…what are you doing right now?”  
“I’m uh…” Dustin eyes his desk again, one hand dead on the keyboard. “I’m working on the new update, and also setting up a date for the coding tear we’re gonna have. We have like 30 code monkeys keen to do it, so…”  
“When—When were you planning on having it?”  
“Mark, where are you? You sound breathless, are you at home?” He checks his phone again, did it display home or Marky-Mark <3\. It’s Mark’s number. “Where are you?”  
“I’m at home, I’m okay—just when, when is the coding marathon, Dustin?”  
“Right, uh—next Thursday night, I thought that was a good date for all of us. Chris can’t be there all night, but that’s okay cause he’s not interested on coding, he says he’s busy with some other shit and uh—am I talking too much?”  
“No, please,” Mark says, voice faint and breathing fast and Dustin takes in the silence with worried eyes and sweaty palms.  
“Should I come home, Mark?”  
“No, just talk me through your code.”  
“Mark, I’m coming home. Okay? Hang in there, buddy, I’ll be there soon.” He picks up the car keys from his desk and heads out of the office, half expecting Mark to yell or hang up.  
“Okay,” He just whispers instead.

“Mark?” Dustin says quietly as he steps into his room. Mark’s sitting on the floor, back to the furthest wall from the door. He’s in a sort of foetal position and Dustin isn’t really sure how to approach a sad Mark. He’s inexperienced in this field, and sure, Mark’s been sad ever since Wardo, well…left, but that kind of sad is usually just masked behind coding furiously and going to fencing lessons 3 times a week after having abandoned it for years. This Mark is, well, different. This Mark is quiet and looks like he might be sobbing and Dustin’s never seen any of his close friends sobbing before, not even whilst drunk and fucked up.  
He closes the distance, padding his way over and clasping a comforting hand on Mark’s shaking shoulder. He doesn’t lift his head and his breathing doesn’t calm, but one of his hands comes up to touch Dustin’s, clumping it in his clammy own.  
Dustin crouches by him, knees cracking loudly as he sinks. He rounds Mark’s shoulders with his arms and pulls him in, tightly against his chest and just holds him.  
“It’s gonna be okay. Whatever it is that’s happened, it’s going to be okay.” Dustin says, his voice coming out steadier than he feels, but Mark shakes his head minutely against his shoulder. “It is. It’s gonna take time, Mark, it won’t be okay tonight or tomorrow or next week. But maybe next month, or next year, things are gonna feel better. Chris and I are gonna be here; you can screw us out of this fucking company, you can sue the fuck out of us for whatever bullshit reason you can come up with, you can give us restraining orders, Mark, but we’re never going to leave you. This is our thing, Mark, our time, and nothing you can do is gonna change that.” Mark doesn’t respond, but he’s stopped shaking his head. Dustin thinks maybe he’s doing okay here, and presses on. “I know you feel like all of this is your fault, Mark, that Wardo leaving was all on you, and I know that you know Chris thinks that too. But I don’t. And if it’s of any consolation, I’m being 100% honest when I say that. For—for a while, I thought, _maybe._ But I kept thinking back to that night we got drunk…” Dustin is barely aware of his voice dropping to a whisper. “When you said you wouldn’t, I know you weren’t lying…”  
“I screwed Wardo out,” Mark _whimpers_ and Dustin feels like a shit friend for not noticing how bad it had really gotten.  
“I…I saw your face…” He trails off. He saw Mark’s face that morning.  
He hadn’t thought much of the smashed laptop, maybe an intern had lost his shit; it wouldn’t be something out of the norm. He’d gone right to the kitchen-y bit to make himself some coffee to start off the day. Coffee and a giant doughnut to stuff his face with and gain all the fucking weight he wanted because _Stephanie Attis_ was coming to work for facebook and Dustin was pretty much the happiest man alive. So doughnuts. And that’s when his brain caught up to him, just as he poured the hot water into the cup, the sound of the streaming river and the rain and all that is water and suddenly, “Holy fuck, I really need to pee.”  
“Dustin, who the fuck cares?” Was Chris’ kind reply as he yawned and dragged his feet around.  
“Feel free to join me in there, Christopher.” Dustin had winked promiscuously, right before breaking down into a huge guffaw and pushing the door open.

The first thought that hit him as he saw the water was _“Yeah, the alarm has been going off all morning,”_ but the sound of it was so dull and repetitive that no one had paid any attention.  
Then, there was the instant, but fleeting panic of _holy shit, if the place was actually burning down and the alarms were going off, nobody would have realised and we could all have died._  
And then, suddenly, Mark was there. Soaking and holding something in his hand. What was it in here? 16 degrees? Not exactly swimming weather. And hang on a second, why is Mark at the office so early? Wait, was that laptop—? Holy shit—  
“Mark,” Dustin manages to cough, but Mark is already pushing past him and walking right out the big doors. Next thing he knows, Dustin is soaked as well.

“I saw your face…”

**Author's Note:**

> Originally, the HTML code was written into the story as rich text as opposed to having like this, but this is the first time i see it like this, and I can't just not post it like this.


End file.
